


That James

by MaxWrite



Series: The That James Series [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, POV First Person, RPF, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-13
Updated: 2005-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is cold and detached, and Oliver isn't going to take it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That James

It’s only natural that siblings grow apart a little as they age. I know that. It hurt at first, I’ll admit it. He’d literally pull away from me at times. And it was partly my fault, I know. I’d sometimes throw caution to the wind and just … reach for him. In public. It was stupid. It annoyed him, and rightfully so. I just needed to be near him.

He had his moments of heart-wrenching tenderness, like when we were alone in the house, and he’d just come up and lay his head down in my lap. I’d be all nonchalant about it, pretend it wasn’t affecting me. I’d just continue playing my game. Then he’d look up at me and say, “Pause it, will you?”

“I’m almost at the end of this level.”

“Please?”

I’d sigh and pause the game and look down at him. He has the sweetest face. You know, sometimes I don’t think we look anything alike.

He’d take my hand and kiss it and clutch it to his chest. I’d toss my controller aside and just hold him.

And the next day he’d be as cold as ever. He’s excellent at faking closeness, but only for brief periods, and only when he wants something. Like attention. Or sex.

We’d snuggle on the couch when mum and dad weren’t home. We’d make out and gaze at each other and whisper to each other. Those were my favourite times. I love that James so much. I love how eager and gentle that James was the first time I put my cock in his mouth. I love how nervous and sweet that James was the first time I kissed him. I love how vocal and passionate that James was the first time I fucked him. I love how that James trembled in my arms and clung to me after the first time I made him come. I love how loving that James was, how happy he was to be near me. I don’t see that James much anymore. Actually, I don’t see James much anymore at all. So, you can imagine how shocked I was to get a call from him late last Sunday morning.

“What’re you doing for lunch today?” he asked. He didn’t even say hello first.

“Eating. Why?”

“Meet me at that place in the village, the one that has that dip I like.”

 _“Why?”_ I repeated.

“I want to see you,” he said cheerfully, as though it was normal that he should want to see me, as though I got calls like this from him all the time. I shrugged and wished he was there to see it.

“All right. Noon?”

“Perfect. Looking forward to seeing you, bro.”

And he hung up. No goodbye.

I yawned, wondering what the hell he was up to this time. I hated myself for worrying about what to wear. I rolled my eyes as I surveyed myself in my full-length mirror. Why did I care what he thought of me?

“The hell with him,” I muttered at my reflection. I ripped off the shirt I’d tried on and replaced it with the faded old t-shirt that _I_ like, that fits me perfectly and that isn’t James’s style at all. The hell with him.

 

No, I’m not surprised he was late. I’ve known him twenty-five years, I know enough to bring a book if I’m supposed to meet him anywhere. It was a nice day, so I brought my dog with me and sat with her at a table on the patio.

“That the new Margaret Atwood?” he asked breezily as he sat across from me.

I closed my book and put it down before I looked up at him. He looked perfect, as usual. Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfectly oblivious.

Oh, I’m not being fair. He’s not oblivious, he’s just, um … no, he is oblivious. He’s not stupid by any means. He’s just completely self-absorbed.

“Yes,” I answered and took a sip of my beer. “You’re late.”

“Am I?” he asked, checking his watch. “I’m sorry, Ol. Here, I picked up a little something for you.”

He thrust a large, rolled up poster at me and set it down in front of me. I eyed it suspiciously and lowered my ear to it.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Listening to see if it’s ticking.”

“Oh, stop it,” he chuckled. “Just open it, will you?”

I didn’t. Instead I narrowed my eyes at him.

“What do you want?” I asked.

The smile faded from his face. He was about to speak when our server, Evan, approached, introduced himself to James, asked if we were twins, goggled at us for a few seconds as though he’d never seen twins before, said we looked familiar, then went into his waiter spiel. James browsed the menu, then ordered his usual. When Evan finally left to get James’s drink, James looked at me, a stony, annoyed look on his face.

“I’m happy to see you too,” he muttered sarcastically. “But I’m starting to rethink that. Cassie missed me, though, I’ll bet. Didn’t you, honey?”

He leaned over and petted my golden retriever, who was lying on the ground at my feet. She emitted a low rumble as he scratched behind her ears.

“Wow,” I said. “You didn’t call her ‘Cathy’ this time. You must _really_ want something from me.”

He straightened up again.

“You’re an arse, you know that?”

 _“Me?_ Oh, you are some piece of work, James! When was the last time I heard from you, eh?”

“I didn’t see you picking up the phone to call!”

“I tried to talk to you at the last family reunion, remember?” I hissed.

“No, you tried to _fuck_ me at the last family reunion!”

“First of all, don’t say that so bloody loud! Second, don’t act like you didn’t want me to, and third, I did not try to fuck you! I just …” Uh-oh. Time once again to admit how weak and pathetically emotional I am.

“What?” he challenged angrily. His arms were crossed now, his jaw set. His features are slightly more feminine than mine anyway, but he never looks more like a girl than when he’s mad. Humph. Dunno why that is.

“I just,” I went on in a calmer voice, “wanted to hold you, that’s all. You used to let me do that, remember?”

He looked away then. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I struck a chord. He actually looked like he was feeling something.

“I miss that sometimes,” I said. “What we had.”

I watched him as he tried to figure out what to say next.

“Me too,” he finally replied. Have to admit, I didn’t expect him to say that.

“Y-you do?” God, I hate how hopeful I sounded.

“Yeah, course. It was nice.”

“But … I thought you didn’t want that. You’re the one who always puts a stop to it. You’re the one who always pulls away.”

He smirked at me.

“I have issues, all right?”

I smiled back.

“Well, I knew that already.”

“Forgive me, Ollie.” His voice was so soft when he said this, his eyes so sad. My heart melted. “After lunch, why don’t we, uh, head on up to your place, okay?”

 _It’s a trap!_ I told myself. _He wants something. He wants you to help fund some crazy project of his, or he’s just craving attention, or he’s horny or something. Run! Run away! Don’t look into his eyes! Don’t say -_

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

 _\- that. You git._

 

The world kept going. People kept going about their business, doing their jobs, talking and laughing, playing, making mistakes and covering them up, whatever, and none of them had any idea that a set of identical twins was just about shag. Although I’m sure a lot of them were fantasizing about it. Oh yeah, I know about that. You’re all sick.

Heh. Guess I’m not one to talk.

He straddled me on my couch in my living room. He pulled his shirt up over his head, and, my god, he’s got a beautiful torso. Yeah, okay, mine looks almost exactly the same. Don’t ask me to explain how one can be sexually attracted to one’s own identical twin. Never understood it myself.

He was almost glaring down at me, naked from the waist up, except for that bloody necklace he always wears. No idea why he’s so in love with it. I never asked and he never told me. Contrary to popular belief (popular hope?) we don’t tell each other everything. We haven’t since we were little. It stopped at some point, I don’t remember when. I didn’t want it to stop. It just did. And I just let it happen.

He lowered his face to mine, rubbed noses with me.

“It’s been too long,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I replied, conveniently forgetting that it had been too long because of him. I took hold of his waist. I love holding him by his waist. I stared up into his eyes, unable to look away and knowing everything I felt was visible in my own eyes. He could see it all, and only a very small part of me was happy about that. I felt light-headed. I couldn’t feel my brain. No blood left in it, I suppose.

He always has this effect on me after we haven’t been together for a while. It’s like my brain needs time to adjust to having him close again, to inhaling him again, to touching him again, to tasting him again.

I can’t explain what I felt when his tongue found its way into my mouth. I think I stopped breathing. That didn’t help my light-headedness much. I had to remind myself to breathe. I nearly passed out.

He began to grind against me. I could feel him through his jeans, and I know he could feel me; my cock felt like it was about to explode. Well, I guess it kind of was, actually.

“Take this off,” he demanded in a breathy voice, pulling my shirt off. It went flying across the room. He went straight for my zipper then, undoing it and my button in what seemed like less than a second and plunging his hand inside.

And that’s the way it’s been for years. Remember that wonderful description of how our lovemaking used to be? Right, well, that only lasted a few months. It gradually tapered off into what we have today; he’s quick and hard and selfish, and he makes me fuck him like he’s got someplace more important to be. He barely looks at me. He barely makes a sound.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, getting up, pulling me to my feet and beckoning for me to follow.

“James, I …”

“Shh.”

Cassie raised her head from my pillow when we entered my bedroom and watched as we helped each other out of our jeans. She got up, hopped down off my bed and trotted out of the room. I felt like she knew what James and I were about to do. I wondered how I’d be able to look her in the eye when we were finished. Then I remembered she’s a dog. And I felt very, very stupid.

“James?”

“Shh!” he repeated more forcefully, planting his lips on mine hard. I pulled away.

“Why can’t I speak?” I asked, frowning.

“It’s a scientific fact that speaking draws blood away from the penis,” he said, his voice muffled against my neck. I chuckled.

“That’s a scientific fact, is it?”

“Mm-hmm. I just love kissing this sweet little spot right here,” he moaned, gently kissing the mole on my neck. I love it when he does that. I melted against him.

“James …” I whispered, closing my eyes.

He guided me to the bed, fell onto it with me and straddled me again. From there, he was pretty much self-sufficient. He took care of the condom and the lubricant and the insertion and the friction. I could’ve detached my penis and gone and had a sandwich.

He’s magnificent to watch, even if he is almost completely detached from me while it’s happening. The way he rides me, it’s clear he knows exactly how gorgeous he is. He likes to show off, that’s why he chooses to ride. But the way he tosses his head in that exaggerated way, the way he bites his lip, the way he moans – not only is he like a bloody porn star, but it almost appears he’s got some kind of routine going. Each time, his moves and his expressions and just his _everything_ seem awfully similar to the last time. And it seems the time from when he starts riding to when he starts wanking is the same each time too. I can’t be sure, of course, I’m certainly not watching the clock while he’s having his way with me, but it seems pretty close. It’s like he’s counting in his head, like a dancer counting out her steps to the beat of the music, “And one, and two, and three, and pout, and five, and six, and seven, and groan, and nine, and ten, and bite my lip.” Humph. I wouldn’t put it passed him.

I lay there watching him play with himself and bounce up and down on me, his head back, his mouth hanging open. I watched his hand skillfully work his cock, performing the moves that would get him off as soon as possible. I reached out to touch his thighs, and I think I saw him scrunch up his face a little.

“James,” I panted. “James, I love you.” I don’t know why I said that. (a) He knows I love him, and (b) he doesn’t deserve to hear it.

“Loveyoutoo,” he said quickly and quietly, not looking at me. My heart ached. Telling him I love him forced him to say it back, and hearing him say it only makes me achy, because I’m not so sure that he means it. I just … don’t know.

He shuddered and shot his load all over me. Some of it hit my face. I licked it from my lips. He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard, his bare body flush with mine. I love the feeling of his skin on mine, I love having him close. I embraced him and nuzzled his neck. Big mistake.

He smells like our childhood. He smells like the secrets we told each other in the dead of night when we should’ve been sleeping. He smells like every stupid thing we did together that got us both grounded. He smells like all those times we spent experimenting with each other’s bodies, tasting each other those first few times. He smells like the bedroom we shared. He smells of our innocence and curiosity and love and need. He smells like everything we were. He smells like That James.

But he’s not That James. I dunno where That James is. I see glimpses of him sometimes, or, at least, I think I do. But he never stays long.

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away just in time. He raised up and looked down at me.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” he asked. I could’ve slapped him. There was nothing in his voice, nothing in his eyes.

I didn’t answer.

“You didn’t come, did you?” he asked. “I don’t think you did. I’ll suck you off if you want me to.”

“If I want you to.” I said the words to myself as though trying to fully understand them.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“No.”

He frowned.

“Then you do want me to go down on you.”

“But you don’t want to.”

His face broke into a smile.

“Course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re a good liar, James. But I’m not buying it anymore.”

The smile left his face almost immediately.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “I’m leaving.”

He rolled off me and sat up. He stretched and yawned and scratched his head. He made to stand up, but I grabbed his arm. He looked back, but only looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” he asked coldly.

I hesitated. Why _had_ I grabbed his arm?

 _“What?”_ he asked more harshly.

“We’re not finished,” I said. I was surprised at my own words.

“Oh, I think we are,” he said, wrenching his arm out of my hand. He tried to stand again, but I sat up and lunged at him, got hold of him round his neck and pulled him to me, his back to my front, my mouth to his ear.

“Now, you listen to me,” I growled. “From here on in, you’re going to do as I say. Do you hear me?”

He was limp in my arms and probably rolling his eyes. He wasn’t taking me seriously.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said impatiently.

“Oh? You were about to suck my cock a minute ago.”

“Yes, well, that never did take very long, did it? - _Ow!”_

I had yanked him further back onto the bed and forced him to lie down. I held him down by placing my knee on his chest and gripping his throat with one hand.

“I asked you if you heard me?” I repeated.

“Let – me – GO!”

I sighed and said, “Shut up, James,” in a calm, exasperated tone. Then I took hold of his hair and gripped it tight.

“Ow, ow,” he whimpered. “You know, if you wanted me to stay, maybe you shouldn’t’ve called me a liar!”

“You’re missing the point,” I explained in the same calm voice. “I want you to _want_ to stay. Is that really so much to ask? If you don’t want me, why are you here?”

“Course I want you.”

“Oh, bullshite.” I gripped his hair tighter. He whimpered some more. “You were just horny, that’s all, so you called me. What, was everyone else busy?”

“Ollie …”

“Shut up!”

I let go of his hair and straddled him.

“You’re going to change my condom, lube me up and then get into whatever position you feel most comfortable in, got it?”

My voice was eerily quiet. I dunno what I thought I was playing at. I guess I just … snapped.

He goggled at me.

“Are you joking?”

“No.”

“This is ridiculous.”

He tried to push me off him, but I caught both his hands in mine and pinned them to the bed. I leaned forward and kissed him hard. I kissed him with all the passion and anger I’d been bottling up all those years. I kissed him so hard, I felt I was raping his mouth with my tongue, and, apparently, so did he; he grunted and groaned his protests into my mouth, trying to turn his face from mine. I wouldn’t allow it. I let his hands go and took hold of his face. I held his head still as I continued to kiss him, determined to get him to comply. I needed him to feel it, _all_ of it, every emotion, every little bit of hurt, every doubt, every wish, every hope that I’d been harbouring because of him. I needed him to _feel_ it. I needed him to know what it was like to be his brother, to be his lover. For just a moment at least, I needed him to know.

I think I scared him. I still feel like shite about that. But, thing is, as I raised his legs and spread him open, he didn’t seem to be fighting all that hard. He screamed at me and clawed at me, but I got the distinct impression … that he wanted it. Let’s make one thing perfectly clear: he could have thrown me off if he’d wanted to.

I slammed into him, and he cried out. He was screaming for me to stop, but his legs remained open wide and raised without much manipulation from me, and his protests sounded suspiciously like cries of ecstasy.

“You’re a selfish little prick, Jamie,” I rumbled in his ear. He hates it when I call him Jamie.

“I … I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry. Please …”

“Shut up!” I said, surprising myself with my own anger … and I slapped him.

I’ve never done that before. It was oddly satisfying, the sharp _slap_ of my hand on his cheek, the way his face snapped to the right, his shocked expression when he looked back at me.

He grunted as I fucked him harder than I ever had before, and he dug his nails into my back, breaking my skin. I let him do this; the pain was a turn-on.

He was screaming my name. He hadn’t done that in years. He hadn’t been this vocal in years. All the passion, all the clawing need and desperation I remembered from those first times together was back. He unhooked his nails from my skin, and his hands went everywhere, as though they weren’t quite sure where they wanted to be; all over my back and my chest and my neck, then back down to my arse, cupping it and holding on tight while my hips pumped back and forth.

“Is this what you’ve been wanting?” I asked in a deep, lusty voice. “All this time, all I had to do was rape you?”

“Oh, god!” he screamed. I can’t even tell you what it does to me to hear him scream like that. It’s one of the biggest turn-ons in the world for me. His voice, so raspy and desperate, his pretty face contorted with pleasure. There aren’t words. He’s so fucking beautiful, sometimes it hurts to look at him. I love him to death. I hate that I do, but I can’t help it.

Wasn’t about to say that to him just yet, though. I was teaching him a lesson. I stopped fucking him. He opened his eyes.

“Don’t stop!” he begged. “Please! Please, Ollie!”

He clawed at my back as he begged, his nails dragging overtop of the cuts he’d dug into my skin. I winced and tensed up. He frowned and looked at one of his hands. I looked at it too. There was a small amount of blood on each of his fingertips. I looked back at him.

“You broke my skin, Jamie,” I said quietly. He stared at me, wide-eyed.

“I-I’m sorry.” His voice was barely audible. A smile played across my lips. I couldn’t help it. He was so … timid. I rather liked it.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, more loudly. “I just – I mean, you were so … You’ve never been this rough with me before.”

“You like it?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly.

We stared at each other for several seconds. His tight little hole convulsed around me. I twitched inside him. I wanted to start fucking him again. I wanted to come. Of course I wanted to. But I wouldn’t let myself. Not quite yet.

I slammed into him once, really hard, just to see the look on his face, just to hear the wonderful noises he made upon impact. Then I withdrew and sat back on my knees.

“Take off my condom,” I ordered.

If he was confused, it didn’t show. His wide-eyed, frightened look seemed glued to his face. He sat up and reached for my cock. He gingerly rolled the condom up and off me. I smirked.

“I should make you lick that clean,” I said. I watched his jaw muscles clench as he tried to figure out if I was serious. I let him suffer for a few seconds.

“Ah, it’s okay,” I said with a laugh. “Just toss it out.”

I laughed quietly to myself. He didn’t join in. I think he was genuinely afraid of me. And yet, he seemed perfectly willing to be ordered about and abused. Humph. Interesting. I wouldn’t’ve liked that. Something happen in our childhood he never told me about? Weird.

“All right, uh, prop some pillows up for me against the headboard.”

He obeyed me, created a nice, cozy little spot for me to sit. I leaned back against the pillows with my legs spread, and I looked him up and down. He was hard again. He was sitting on his knees before me, his hands on his thighs, staring into my eyes, awaiting instructions. He looked rather sweet like that, like a dog awaiting orders from its master. I suddenly wished I had a smaller dog than Cassie, one whose collar was small enough to fit James’s neck.

“You can suck me off now,” I said. He looked down at my cock. He moved towards it, laid himself down on his stomach and gripped the base with his fist. The look in his eyes as he stared at it; it was just like the first time he’d seen my erection. His eyes were so full of desire and something like – I dunno … _wonder._ I wondered what he was thinking. Was he still amazed that it looked exactly like his own? Or maybe he was intrigued by the way the underside looked, as he probably doesn’t see his very often. Or maybe he was just mesmerized, as we all are sometimes, by the nakedness of the one he loved.

It was That James who was lying before me just then, and I know That James loves me.

I didn’t rush him. How could I, watching him admire me like that? It was something he hadn’t done in so long. My cock twitched again when I saw him lick his lips. His lips weren’t dry, I could see that. That had been a lick of anticipation.

His eyes slid shut, and he brought his mouth down to my head. He opened his mouth and licked the moisture from my slit, then he flicked his tongue up and down all around it. I’d forgotten how good he was at giving head. I promptly remembered when he engulfed me, my entire shaft disappearing inside his mouth. I could feel his throat constricting around me. He pulled back, and I was slick with his saliva. Once he really got going, his fingers and his mouth both became thoroughly wet from his drooling. My god, I’ve never seen him so hungry. He opened up wide and licked upwards along my length, panting with urgent need. He rolled onto his side, wet his other hand with spit and began to stroke himself. The sight of him so desperate for my cock, drooling down my shaft and playing with himself was enough to make me blow my load right then. But I resisted.

I grabbed his hair and yanked his head away from me. He looked at me, still stroking himself.

“Put some lube on me,” I ordered. He scrambled forward, reached for the bottle on the bedside table, and rather tenderly applied some of its contents to my throbbing hard-on. He put the bottle down and, breathing slightly harder than normal, he sat back and stared at me, waiting.

“Come here. Crawl to me, kiss me and grind against me.”

He didn’t hesitate. He crawled toward me, staring directly into my eyes. He pressed his cock to mine and began rolling his hips, rubbing himself against me. He took my mouth with his own, and we kissed deeply as the pressure built inside both of us.

I spread my legs as wide as I could and slid down until I wasn’t sitting up anymore. I took him in my arms and thrust up against him. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, and for a while he just let me suckle on it.

I know you’re sick of hearing this, but it was so like the way we used to be. Just achingly sweet. It’s perverted, I know. He’s my brother, after all. But our love … how can it be wrong when we love each other so much? Yes, okay, our babies will have two heads each. I know, I know.

Heh. Mpreg. Yeah, I know about that too. You’re all sick.

I longed to keep the moment going just a bit longer. The gentle, tentative innocence of it was maddeningly, intoxicatingly wonderful. We made happy little mewling noises into each other’s mouths as our tongues wrestled. And his hands were in my hair. I love it when he does that.

But men can only last so long, you know, and he was nearing his end. And thank god for that, ‘cause I was about to explode myself. The sounds he was making grew louder, and he was thrusting faster. He grabbed two big chunks of my hair and lifted his mouth away from mine as he began to come.

My orgasm started mere seconds before his did. We came together and clung to each other and yelled profanity and each other’s names and shuddered against each other and cried out for God and generally made arses of ourselves. Sex is a very undignified activity, you know.

It was over, and he was breathing hard against my neck again, groaning intermittently. Our chests and bellies were wet and hot and slippery with cum. When he finally raised up a bit to look at me, I ran a finger down his chest, gathering some of it on my fingertip and licked it off. He smiled at me, a genuine smile, and I finally noticed he was trembling.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. He shook his head.

“I’m just cold,” he said. His voice was shaky too. I don’t think he was really cold. His hair hung in his eyes when he looked down and away from me. I reached up and took his chin between my fingers. I didn’t turn his face back upwards. I simply stroked his chin with my thumb.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” I whispered. “I’ve been looking for you forever, you know.”

He looked up at me then. I thought he’d be confused by what I’d said, but he didn’t look it. He looked as though he knew exactly what I meant. And he looked so sad too.

We didn’t say anything for a long time. We just laid in bed and held each other. I held him until his trembling subsided. And then I held him some more.

I don’t know why my taking control like that brought That James back. I don’t think he knows either. Maybe I’m normally too nice and wishy-washy or something. Maybe that annoyed him to the point where he just … gave up on me. I dunno.

“So, what is this anyway?” I asked reentering my bedroom with the rolled up poster he’d given me. This was an hour or so later.

“Open it and see,” he said coyly. He was lying on my bed, still completely naked. I, being the modest twin, had put on a pair sweat pants and a t-shirt.

I unrolled the poster and found my very own eyes staring back at me. I gave him an I-can’t-believe-you-did-this look.

“You looked incredible on the _GQ_ cover this month,” he said. “So, I had it blown up.”

“James …”

“Look at yourself, man, you’re bloody gorgeous!”

“No, I’m airbrushed.”

“Well, they didn’t have much to airbrush, did they?”

“You know I can’t keep this. You know I can’t hang pictures of myself in my own house. You _know_ how I am about that.”

He shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll keep it then.”

How did I know he was gonna say that? The old I-got-you-something-you-won’t-like-so-I-can-keep-it routine. Sheesh. I was afraid That James had retreated again, but he hadn’t. He was still there. I guess Selfish James will never completely go away.

Well, baby steps, I guess.

END


End file.
